Wayward First Steps
by Clockwork000
Summary: Story that focuses on Roman's life and a key event which leads up to his first appearance. No one starts out at the top. Witness one selfish egocentric's ascension to infamy with just one night on the town. A troublesome mess which would lead to all of his rises and falls much later on. One-shot.


_**Disclaimer - **__I claim no ownership to the character(s) used in this fan work. The character(s) rightfully belong to their creators such as Monty Oum and their other respective owners at Roosterteeh._

_Music featured in this work belong to SEGA Publishers and developers Platinum Games, as well as the actual artist, 'Skitz The Samurida', for his contribution to the Max Anarchy Soundtrack._

* * *

**Wayward First Steps**

It was the dead of night. A cloudless pitch black sky blanketing the lonely city of Vale. Due to the many streetlights set in place, only the most prominent of stars were defined and visible. This resulting in the crumbling moon seeming to be the only thing residing in the barren above.

A few streets down off of a main road, was a crashed police cruiser. The front end impacted and shoved into a now bent lamp post on the corner of the sidewalk. The streetlight now collapsed partially over top it.

The area was thankfully vacant of any pedestrians or passersby who could have been hurt or injured by the recent accident. This causing the only sounds to come from car engine whose purpose seemed to be spouting smoking out of the hood of the vehicle at this point. The other, distant noises of other passing cars, blocks down and far out of sight.

Inside the cop car was a sole individual. The proud as he was lousy, Roman Torchwick. Rather than the back however, he was in the driver's seat. His face as well as the rest of his body being beaten up and bruised. His sole visible eye resting half closed as he leaned his forehead on the top of the steering wheel.

Taking a few moments to collect himself from the recent crash, the criminal took steady breaths as he listened to the disheveled noises of the surely half destroyed and indented car engine.

When the sounds of police sirens reared their ugly heads, Roman couldn't help but sigh silently to himself. The only thing he could do at the time was think back to how he found himself in this troublesome mess.

… … …

It was earlier that night, the sidewalk still packed with bustling people. Standing stationary, couples, groups, and loners alike all walked around the bright haired man. Torchwick's attention was focused elsewhere.

He was standing outside of an expensive clothing store. The display windows showing off their latest and most requested styles. One outfit catching his eye and full attention in particular.

Out in front was a designer white jacket propped up on a male mannequin. The exterior was made of a sturdy and immaculate white leather. The inside lined with an exquisite crimson red material. Golden ornate buttons trailing down the middle of where they would loop.

Staring for long enough, the thief eventually saw his reflection in the glossy window. He was donned in a simple black short-sleeved turtleneck which fit his upper body tightly. A dark brown pair of cargo pants underneath. Fastened around his neck, a firmly tied gray short gray scarf. Finishing with a set of thick rounded cuffed black gloves which matched his worn in boots.

Taking a step to his right, the criminal was able to align himself directly over the hung overcoat. This creating the illusion of what he would look like dressed up in the stylish garment.

Smirking satisfactory over his reflected state, Roman took a moment to admire his face. It wasn't uncommon for the man to slick his hair back fully on both sides during his work nights. He may have been a criminal by trade, but one crime he would never be guilty of was hiding his urbane mug. Grinning, it was obvious he was more than happy with the way he was looking. The style complimented the young and unblemished face of a man barely in his twenties. He knew that in just a few more years he could groom and develop himself into quite the dashing and worldly rouge, not that the current model was anything to scoff at.

His proud demeanor disappeared rather bluntly when his eye wandered over to the price tag clipped into the left sleeve. It's selling price being high into the eight digits, not including the cents and tax that would come demanded with it.

Before the scowl could etch itself further onto his face, a low buzzing emerged from his pants pocket. Reaching for the cause, Roman glanced down and pulled out his cellphone just enough to catch a look at the front screen. When the words _job_ flashed up at him, he slid it back where he was keeping it.

Taking one last look at the white coat, Torchwick shook his head to clear his mind. Shifting forward, the young man started a mild but purposeful stroll in the direction toward the city's southern port.

… … …

Down by the docks, it didn't take much for the green eyed thief to sneak passed the guard booth blocking off one of the entrances to the many warehouses in the port. Avoiding an occasional security patrol cart, he was able to trespass without any real hindrance.

Behind one of the larger warehouses were three faces he may not have liked, but he was at the very least familiar with. With a low huff, he walked somewhat begrudgingly over to them.

Seated on a dumpster was a more gangly-looking youth. He was dressed in a flamboyant white silk track suit, black stripes tracing the limbs. A pulled down beanie covering the upper half of his head. A large pair of headphones over top and connected to a player inside his jacket. His head bobbing to the beats without a care in the world.

Looking at the other's appearance, Roman couldn't help but frown at his peach-fuzz and other unkempt looks about him.

Timidly looking around, leaning on the opposite structure, the second grunt's wide eyes followed Roman's advance. He was dressed primarily in denim. Light jeans and a jacket of the same material over a messy, hastily pushed in t-shirt. Stringy short black hair that seemed to be coming undone due to a high amount of stress induced sweat. His arms were crossed, but the observant orange haired thief could see the other's firm grip on his arms were simply there to hide his shaking hands.

Lastly, seated on a small throwaway crate that had been stored outside the warehouse, was a sharp dressed, dark skinned male. A fine black suit over a dark gray dress shirt. Spotless animal hide dress shoes beneath him. A shaven head covered by a thin black bowler cap, a deep red band around it with a quill feather sticking out the back. His stare, unwavering as his thick brown iris' stared the approaching individual down. A lit cigar in his mouth while the light passing breeze blowing a dignified red scarf which was resting over his shoulders.

Upon the recent arrival of the fourth thief, the apparent ringleader of their ragtag group rose onto his feet. Standing tall and proud, he dwarfed all the other three by a full foot or more. He was also the oldest by a wide margin. Appearing to be in his early thirties, his face matched with a certain degree of ware that came with experience. A tiny indent in the bridge of his nose most likely from a scuffle early in life that never healed properly. Once again upright, a broadsword seeming weapon was enclosed in a leather sheathed by his side that was formerly hidden by his coat and the way he was sitting.

Taking the cigar out of his mouth, he held it in his off hand. "You're late, Romeo." His tone deep as well as hoarse. A certain measure of loathing in his eyes as he looked down on the younger.

With a matching the detest, Torchwick scowled. "It's Roman, Julius. We've been over this." He corrected bitterly, disregarding the accusing statement which came prior.

"I don't care." Was all the eldest had to say on the subject as he slipped the cigar back into his mouth for a brief drag. "The job is simple, even you rookies can't mess this one up."

"Excuse me?" Roman remarked indignantly, a hand sliding down onto his hip.

Roman had been doing jobs for the mob since his late teens. Because of this, he was deemed a reliable addition to any heist or job that needed to be done. This reputation granting him a fair amount of respect in the mob, from anyone apart from Julius that was.

Julius was a rare exception excluding the head boss himself. The mafioso had been the one whom had to show the emerald eyed thief the ropes of their operation for his first few months in the family. This meaning that any experience or reliable actions carried out afterword would always be overwritten by his less than commendable service in the beginning.

Resuming with what he was saying before, the eldest seemed to ignore the jaded man's commentary. "My associates and I have already scoped the place out. What we want is in a small safe in the manager's office inside this building. There should be a couple security guards inside, but that's all we saw."

While the other two seemed to be following along blindly and without resignation, Torchwick couldn't help but raise a brow at the curious instructions and bring up a few objections. "Hold on. You tell us to come to a crowded warehouse, and what we need to steal is what's inside a small safe? A month's earnings is fine and all, but why not just steal what's inside?" When receiving an annoyed glare, he turned his head to the side of the structure as his eyes traced along it's outer walls for any sort of signs of ownership. "Just what's in the safe? Who owns this place anyway?"

"A bit of advice, Romeo..." Julius spoke up, a more threatening and intimidating look overtaking his face. "...you leave the planning to the higher-up like me. Grunts like you should just do as yer told." His eyes narrowing by the end.

Seeing the other two hired knock-around guys staring with varied shades of worry, the eldest of the group cleared his throat. "Right, to reiterate: We break in, take care of security, steal what's in the safe, then we leave and I take my getaway car I've parked off to the side a ways down, and we go our separate ways for the night. Easy, like I said." A confident and assuring smile growing on his face.

"Not bad for the pay, am I right boys?" He followed up, patting the more nervous member of their outfit on the shoulder to ease his obvious worry.

Still not convinced, Roman crossed his arms. "I don't like it. You're hiding something." Not shy of voicing distrust.

Julius' face fell flat at the open signs of discontent. "What was that Romeo? You wanna volunteer to head in first and clear the place out for us?" When the orange haired thief opened his mouth again, the older continued right away. "Fine decision! That's how you move up in this kinda life, dedication."

Bending down, the group's orchestrator pulled out a solid iron crowbar from behind him on the ground. "Take this." He ordered, tossing it in front of him.

Leaning back a bit, Roman reached up and seized the hook ended metal before it could smack him abruptly in the face. Lowering it, his view was greeted with the sight of Julius pointing up above and over his shoulder with his thumb.

Correcting his vision, the young thief saw that the ceiling of the warehouse was broken into several layers. A much higher one, where they mostly stored high shelves, and a lower end near the sides and where they currently resided under. Just below the higher roof was a horizontal row of windows, the furthest of which was cracked open just barely and shined light out from the inside.

With a lowly sigh, Torchwick couldn't help but hang his head. "Just my luck." He mumbled haplessly.

"Marco, give 'im a lift." Julius instructed, returning most of his attention back to his cigar from earlier.

Unlike Roman, the denim clad youth ran over to the lower roof's overhang zealously. His speedy actions reflecting his nervousness. With his back to the wall, he arched forward and cupped his hands together.

Walking over, the orange haired individual was less than formal. Instead of accepting the boost as it was, he instead reached over and pushed Marco's head down further. Before he could rise up, Roman stepped up onto the other's back and jumped off and upward. A grunt forming from below as he did so. Roman's right hand, tightly gripped with the crowbar, reached upward and hooked onto the ledge. With a steady grip, he used the tool to pull himself up fully.

Shaking his head at the display, Julius tried not to give it any more attention than need be. "Hurry up, would ya?" A callousness added to his words. "I've got dinner plans later tonight. I don't cancel."

Keeping at his own pace, the emerald eyed thief strolled across the rooftop before hopping up onto the start of the upper area. The metal shingles creaking with each footstep. "Why do I gotta do all the grunt work?" He complained aloud, barely putting any effort into concealing his comments.

Hearing this, the well dressed mafioso pulled his cigar out of his mouth. "Because you're arrogant and unlikable." The older replied, staring at the now high up crook.

Instantly dropping to one knee, Torchwick held his head low near the window which was now mere feet below. "Hold up, I think I can hear something." The male warned in a shouted whisper. His body still, his ear aimed toward the open window so that he could make out and relay the subtlest of noises.

All of the other three criminals all stiffened up to a noticeable extent. Marco looked as though he was ready to abandon everything right there and make a mad dash out of the docks. The other less than equitably clothed grunt also gulped rather loudly, shifting his head around to make sure they were truly hidden from sight. The degenerate in charge however had directed all of his focus to the thief above.

After a pause of acceptable length, Roman nodded to himself. "Yup, I definitely heard it." He stated aloud. "I absolutely heard the sound..." His expression changed from worry to annoyance in the span of a second. "...of the pot calling the kettle black!" Aggravation written all over his face as he barked back and glared down at the supervising gangster in charge below.

Smirking at the punkish nature of the rude comment, Julius couldn't help but chuckle briefly to himself. "There's a difference. I've earned it. You haven't."

Perhaps having heard enough from the other for the time being, Roman slid off the rooftop and stuck the hook end of the crowbar into the crack of the window as he were falling. Pulling himself up, he shoved the widow open all the way and seated himself on the outer rim. His legs, now dangling in the interior. Before dropping in, the thief took a moment to study the layout of the complex for all it's worth.

The inside was a fairly rudimentary arrangement. Off of the ceiling hung three cheap wires which attached only to sockets, all of which hung nothing more than light bulbs to illuminate the interior, one of which flickered on occasion resulting a noticeably dimmer lighting in that area of the warehouse. The walls held basic sized shelving units which at a glance seemed to hold car or other vehicle-like parts on it. The rest unexposed in heavy looking packaging.

The middle of the building was made up of four massive sprawling multi-leveled shelving structures which reached all the way up to the skylights in the top of the ceiling's highest point. The layers each large enough to hold the giant indiscreet wooden and metal crates which littered them all, each larger than the size of an average human being. They were far from packed together tightly, if necessary, someone could rather easily worm his way in between.

By the West wall of the building, Roman spotted a small office hanging over the facility. A hallowed metal staircase leading up to it from the ground floor. Some throwaway packaging tossed underneath to conserve space.

Down in the opposite end of the complex were two identically dressed gray attired security guards. Whittling their hours away, the two were playing cards in some folding chairs and using a wide crate as a makeshift table.

Measuring the distance between where he sat and one of the grand shelving units in front of him, Roman took a deep breath. Kicking off from where he was seated, he took an affirmative leap and outstretched his metal tool ahead of him. After a significant dip, the crowbar hooked into the bottom of the third floor of shelving. The deep piercing ring of metal against metal unavoidable.

Swearing under his breath, the rouge was careful to avoid making any further disruptive noises as he descended onto the ground. Touching back onto the ground, Roman sneaked in between a pair of crates on the first floor of the shelf.

As a pair of footsteps started drawing closer, the criminal held his breath. He could feel the sudden spark in his heartbeat. A scandalous grin riding up briefly before forcibly pushed down so it's owner could focus.

Keeping himself silent as possible, Roman listened to the footsteps so that he could properly judge how close they had become. The pace was modest, most likely, their investigative owner not harboring much worry as he came closer. Given this, Torchwick was able to reason that this first guard didn't truly suspect any breaking and entering, at the most he simply assumed something had fallen or came undone. Something Roman could use for his advantage.

Hearing the steps turn the corner over to him, a cone of light painted the ground from a flashlight. With subtle movements, Roman dug himself into the numerous stored cargo as to hide his body from sight completely.

Holding his breath, the thief kept an unwavering gaze out of the crevice he had dug himself into. Eventually, a lone male walked right passed. His flashlight pointed up at the higher layers. When the guard moved out of sight, Roman darted out of his hiding spot.

With quick motions lacking even the faintest hints of hesitation, he slipped his crowbar around in front of his target and immediately after pressed it close toward him. With the iron now fastened against the other's unfortunate trachea, Roman altered his grip so that the metal was held in place and he could also cover the guard's mouth with his hand to eliminate any chances of raspy yelps reaching the other security member.

Struggling and trying to worm free, the guard's face started shifting from red to an airless blue and purple. Mid-choke, Roman raised a leg and kicked in the other's inner leg to forcefully topple him onto his knees and allow his hold to be kept up more easily.

With a few dying grunts, the guard eventually slipped unconscious. Keeping his hold up for an extra few seconds out of caution, Roman released the man. Practically a corpse, the body fell flat on it's stomach without resistance.

Dropping to a knee, Torchwick pulled the man's head toward him for a quick examination. Pulling up one of the eyelids, he gazed into a wide dilated pupil that was static and unmoving. The breathing was weak but consistent, not of a man whom was concealing pain. He was definitely out cold.

Rising back up, the footsteps of the other security guard started drawing closer after his partner. "Hey, Pops! What's goin' on over there? Find something?" The voice deep, but fairly young.

Picking up the unconscious guard's flashlight, Roman rose back up into a stand. Shining the light down at the man beneath him, the criminal saw that a few gray hairs were noticeable near the roots of his short brunette hair. "Sleepin' on the job, Pops? How shameful." He teased to himself creeping over to the corner of the shelving he had hidden himself away in earlier.

The remaining guard walked tall, his flashlight pointed near the ground as he approached the same corner the other had just slipped around moments ago. Eyes shifting around, he was much more dutiful than the former.

Just about to turn the corner, the other's flashlight rolled slowly across the floor before coming to a stop directly in front of him. The light bulb powered off.

Not sure what to take of this, the guard slowly began his approach. "Pops?" He called out again, still not getting an answer. Inching over steadily, some shifting in the corner of his peripheral vision instinctively made him shine his own flashlight into the stock of the shelf beside him. Examining a prominent crevice, there was nothing to be found.

A figure jumping over him from the second layer of shelving landed directly behind. A loud pounding drop of leather boots hitting the ground alerting him. Just as the security guard went to whip his sight around, he had already been hammered in the back the skull by a blunt object. Legs turning to jello, his vision blurring, the guard collapsed roughly against the floor.

Stifling a laugh, Roman shook his head. "It's just too easy sometimes." He boasted aloud, brandishing his now reddened steel.

Kneeling down again, he gave another quick examination like he did the previous guard. With the same dulled responses checking out, he concluded by feeling the wound in the back of the head. To his surprise, removing his glove from the wound, there were barely any traces of blood at all. "Hard headed, aren't we?" He mocked giving the guard one last look over.

The younger guard seemed to be in his early twenties, muscular as well. Some sort of black inked tattoo sticking out from the back of his shirt and riding up the behind the neck. While his short trimmed hair seemed to naturally be black, the top half had been dyed blond and was showing signs of fading.

About to stand back up, a laminated red key badge caught his eye. It was clipped on to his belt on the side of his waist. Predicting a future use for the card, Torchwick undid the badge and brought it up to his face to look it over momentarily before stowing it in his pocket. "Well... Mel, I'll just be borrowing this. I don't think you'll have a need for it at the moment. Apologies if I inconvenience you."

Finished with his haughty mockery of the two knocked out men, the orange haired man left the pair alone on the side as he strolled peacefully across the structure and toward the staircase leading to the overhanging office. Hopping up the stairs pleasantly, Roman entered the unlocked office.

The room was small. Probably able to hold two comfortably, three people at a maximum. A desk shoved up against the wall facing the warehouse. A wide window taking up it's upper half so that the manager could most likely keep an eye on things. A few messy filing cabinets on the back wall, this arrangement being why the place was so claustrophobic and tight. The safe not even bothered to be hidden properly was instead shoved under the desk, not that there seemed to be anywhere else for it.

A pair of dated looking computers rested atop the desk, one appeared to be for the owner or manager, while the second was security's. The security monitor used fairly recently but prompted for a required card key before the user could proceed.

Whipping out his pilfered security badge, Torchwick swiped it against a scanner on the side. After a few seconds a successful pinging noise was heard and full access had been granted. The interface was basic so that the security force could manage without any hiccups. This of course meaning that someone in Roman's position had no problem navigating it himself.

After playing around for a minute, he was able to bring up the security feed from assorted cameras setup in and outside the warehouse. To his surprise, Julius and the others were in fact hidden in the smallest of blind spots the system had. "So ya did do your homework." He muttered to himself before bringing up the system's alarm window. With another swipe of the card, it was deactivated within seconds.

After a few more clicks the front shutter gates, made for delivery trucks and forklifts were unlocked and slid upward. Within a few seconds, the remainder of the band of criminals had all entered inside as well and the shutters was closed back down behind them in case any other security were in the area.

Done with his part, Roman removed himself from the cramped office and went to rendezvous with his fair weather comrades. The crow bar slipping into one of the belt loops on the side of his pants as he approached the group.

"Not bad, Romeo." The group's orchestrator complimented, his hands resting in his coat pockets while he took a short inspection of the inside of the facility.

Frowning bitterly, Roman passed off the key card to the silk track suited member of their team who headed directly for the suspended office. "Don't thank me, I expect to be paid accordingly."

Rearing a small but genuine chuckle, Julius shook his head. "That's a good one." Focusing his attention back on the green eyed thief, his amused look quickly faded. "Anything unusual to report?" He asked, covering his bases.

With a tired sigh, Roman shook his head but then recalled something that irked him. "Actually, when I was playing with the security alarm, I noticed something strange. The alarm goes off to three different places. More than just the police and security on site."

Not seeming too worried, the suave dressed mobster glanced off to the side. "You're bein' paranoid." He reassured, beginning to step passed his subordinate. "It's probably just the alarm company, or maybe even the warehouse's owner. Something like this isn't too uncommon."

When Roman attempted to bring up another point, Julius turned to face him completely once more. "Here's a tip, don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. Best way to get ahead in this kinda life." The older recommended taking a moderate drag of his cigar.

About to bring up another point, the flamboyantly dressed member of their group hung himself out of the door of the office above. "Uh, Roman?" He called out worriedly. "What did you touch?" The words fumbling out slow and lazily.

Arching his left brow, the emerald eyed thief looked up over his shoulder. "What are you going on about? Just crack the safe. Unless I'm expected to do that part too?" He complained, not in the best of moods.

Scratching the back of his head, the other criminal looked around a little panicked. "The monitors over here won't stop flashing this red color. You sure you turned off _all_ the alarms?" The lanky crook questioned.

"What?" The surly criminal barked, insulted at the mere accusation.

With a disappointed sigh, the gangster in charge groaning partially. "Smooth move, Romeo." The eldest criticized.

Bearing his clenched teeth, Roman flung a hand in the air as he pointed up at the office overhead. "You listen here, Mr. oh so immaculate thug. I had to-" His complaints halted when the destructive sound of something shattering in the north corner of the warehouse stiffened all parties.

Without another word, and after a quick glance of confirmation, both criminals began a fast paced walk down to the origination of the disruptive noise. Marco trailing behind simply out of fear of being left alone.

Rounding the corner, the three were greeted with an unnerving sight. A metal shipping container for sea cargo transfer had been laid vertically and flat up against the corner of the warehouse. From it's long since placement, the front section of the contain had been completely ripped open, the inside devoid of anything at all.

Neither of the three could say anything, for a few moments in time, their minds could only speculate at the cause as they each stood still in awe. A second following, it descended from the ceiling.

With a heavy thud, a massive automaton landed before the trio of crooks. Four pronged spider-like steel legs holding up the war machine. It's metal plating a mix of charcoal and crimson. It's core and head almost humanoid in shape. Two gigantic cannons for arms, an extra pair equipped to it's back.

It's loud landing was so rough that not only did it impact and cause a series of equally spaced craters in the floor, it also shook the general vicinity from it's humongous weight. This after quake seemed to stir the second guard Roman had taken out upon his arrival. With a groggy groan, he pushed up off the ground onto one knee and shook his head in an attempt to clear or ease his throbbing skull.

While barely moving originally, the automaton gave a slow scan of the compound as it paused only ever briefly as it inspected all living beings in the warehouse. Once complete, it's head reset in it's neutral position. "_Four threats detected_." Echoed an inhuman genderless robotic tone from the machine. "_Use of lethal force unauthor- bzzt. Lethal force authorized._" At it's last directive, it's two cannon arms were raised and at first pointed at the three directly in front of it.

Cowering in the manager's office, the crook who had taken over for Roman poked his head out just enough to get a good look at the room's final security measure. Sticking his head out just an inch too far, it was spotted by the droid.

With a sharp turn of it's head and visual sensors, the machine altered it's weapons path up toward the office windows. "_Fifth target registered. Sniper position possible. Primary target changed_." Without further warning, the two arm mounted cannons fired out two highly potent and concentrated bursts of white dust, each half the size of a car.

Without anywhere else to run, the criminal could only take cover behind the work desk. Violently, the blasts broke right through the window and caused glass shards to fly out everywhere. Impacting the back of the enclosed room, the stuffed filing cabinets were flung forward.

Not able to shield himself from both directions, the cabinets bashed against the back of the misfortuned crook. His head bashing against the top of the desk on his way down, he slipped unconscious and his headphones were ejected from his person to atop the desk.

With the headset landing on a tiny mic and stand connected to a small PA system strung throughout the warehouse, one of the bulky earphones fell against the two way switch and knocked the device on out of sheer happenstance. Even with the owner out cold, the player went right on and played the next track in the list. The words: 'Skitz The Samurida – My Town, My City' scrolling across the main component of the player as the song began to play out the speakers and into the PA system. While only static proceeded for the first few seconds, it soon after adjusted and started playing the intro of the fast paced and energetic hip-hop song without any hassle, which seemed to by the vocalist hyping up it's audience.

It's first target eliminated, at least as far as it's sensors could register, the war machine once again fixated it's focus on the three criminals ahead of it. "_Four threats remain. Proceeding with full extermination_."

With a narrowed gaze, Julius placed his right hand on the handle of the sheathed sword he kept on his side. "An Atlas spider droid? I'd thought the model was discontinued." No noticeable fear in his voice at all.

Following a long sigh, Roman massaged the bridge of his nose with his off hand. His shoulders dropping as a scowl marred his face. "Terrific." Discontent in his speech rather than what should have been worry.

On the verge of a panic attack, the denim dressed knock-around crook's chest rose and fell in sporadic gasps. "J-Julius? W-What's goin' on? You s-said this job was gonna be easy; a cinch!" His hands grabbing onto his elbows ans he held himself and hunched over slightly. "I-I-I never signed up for this!" He shouted, frantic and obviously terrified.

Back on his feet, the younger of the two security guards still kept one hand on the side of his head. His vision finally steadying, a frown painted his jaw. "That thing say four? Oh no." The lousy realization dawning upon him by the end.

_This my, this my city  
All my gangstas, man are you wit me  
Yo reign of terror ends here real quickly  
Takin back what's mine, put simply  
This my, this my town  
To get it back, man it's gonna go down  
In no way am I messin' around  
The king returns, takin' back my crown_

As the war machine began to fire a few more highly concentrated rounds, all members of the heist scattered. Even the guard doing similarly in the same general direction. Anything to create distance between the automaton and himself. Each burst and volley after them seeming to shake the very concrete foundation of the warehouse.

Julius had made a mad dash down the middle of several of the high shelves, singling himself out however, he seemed to be the first target. When a series of burst seemed to be barreling toward him, he had no other choice. Unsheathing his weapon revealed it to be a wide almost elongated diamond shaped blade. The great sword registering close to three feet in length. White painted steel with ridges marking down the center tip and reaching down to the hilt.

Holding his ground, the mobster held his bulky weapon with both hands. Slashing horizontally ahead of him, he was able to deflect one of the blasts into the ground away from him. Jumping to the side, he was able to avoid the rest which painted and shook the wall behind him.

Taking a knee, he squeezed and twisted the handle clockwise. Doing so caused the blade to separate and retract from itself, down the middle ridges. With the upper segment retracting into a stock, the man held his offhand underneath to steady it. Pulling back toward the handle, a bit of electricity sparked between the two ends of the former sword tip, which now aimed up toward the machine across the ways.

When a round chunk of metal seemed to be automatically loaded in from the blade guard. Squeezing the handle once again, electricity from both sides of the former blade started slowly pulling the steel down the parted and suspended barrel. As this was happening, the sounds of the supercharged metal and increasing output of electricity caused a building hum. Speeding up tremendously the further it traveled, upon passing the tip's second electrical threshold, the metal was catapulted at amazing speed. Almost as soon as the chunk of metal turned bullet left it's parallel twin tracks, it appeared to impact against the droid at high-velocity instantaneously. A smokescreen even forming from the sheer force of the collision.

With the machine's form hidden, the gangster couldn't help but smirk to himself in approval. This was however cut short as the cloud cleared to reveal barely a scratch on the war droid's chassis. Correcting it's aim, it returned the gesture by firing three volley's of it's own.

Taking a second to rise up off one knee, there was no longer any room to dodge the concentrated blasts. Shifting his saber rail-gun hybrid back to it's blade form. It's wielder shifting it so that the broad side of the weapon could act as a shield. Bracing it with his forearm, the owner's aura arose in a secondary measure.

The three bombardments hit all at once. The combined force hurling Julius into the air and back nearly a dozen feet. Landing on his side, the momentum kept him rolling a few times until he settled on his stomach. His aura flickering as it faded away. There was no way he could not take another assault like that. A little hindered, he pushed off onto his feet and brought his weapon with him. When the droid's arm cannons traced over him again, the criminal gritted his teeth and ran for a different aisle.

_Now it's time to rid the invaders  
Show 'em who in this town is the greatest  
Defend our home, know that we made this  
Ain't no time to be goin' on hiatus  
Nope, sound of da battle cry  
Fear, hearin' it rattle guys  
As I kick 'em out, dismiss 'em  
If you ain't from here  
Man, you betta go missin'_

Ignoring the blasting hip-hop, Roman had stuck to the furthest shelf aisle from the machine's original position. Having a similar mindset, it seemed that the timid grunt had also followed this reasoning to prolong his own safety.

Once in the middle of the shelf, Torchwick started looking all over for anything he could use to his advantage. From the many high stacked shelves, to the office, and eventually even the ceiling if only to cover his bases.

"W-What are we gonna do now, Roman?" The ill prepared, both mentally and physically, male choked out. Still not in control of his breathing entirely.

Scanning the ceiling above, the jaded thief spotted a ray of hope in the bleak situation. Hovering above, just after the final layer of shelving in the center were a row of skylights. At least a couple of which seemed to be in reach.

Smirking to himself, the emerald eyed crook whipped out his crowbar from earlier. "I'm cutting my loses. Julius wants to keep secrets? Let 'im clean up his own messes for once." Jumping up, he used the hook end of the bar to help him climb up onto the second level and immediately after, the third and fourth.

On his way up, he turned down beneath him to see Marco struggling to keep up. Following on his own out of desperation most likely. Shifting his head, Roman grimaced as he saw the war machine march around the northern corner and start heading for the two of them.

As it's barrels were charging, Torchwick could think of only one option to buy himself more time. Looking down again, the opportunist released his hands and dropped back down onto the third layer of the shelf. As he did, he intentionally aligned himself to land on the very edge, and on top of Marco's fingers.

From the pain, Marco instinctively unclamped his hands. Plummeting down back onto the ground floor, he could only stare in dismay toward Roman's cold unfeeling gaze. "R-ROMAN!" The man cried out just before his back slammed against the hard concrete flooring.

His eyes squeezed shut from the rough landing, the panicked male winced a moment before his eyes fluttered back open. Doing so, his first sight was that of the menacing giant droid standing directly above him, it's two cannon arms pointed directly at him, mere feet away from his face.

With the twin barrels buzzing from it's current charge, Marco jerked as his body stiffened momentarily from shock. Fear overwriting his brain, he flailed onto his stomach and went from a sporadic crawl into a staggering sprint within seconds. Trampling over the numerous containers and other goods that lined the lowest level of the shelf in front of him as he dragged himself through to the other side. Blasts hitting the floor inches behind, the force propelling him through onto the other side.

Shaking his head at the pitiful display, Roman ignored the rest of the scene as he sauntered to the opposite side of the third level of shelving with apathy. His left hand sliding into his pants pockets. "Sorry, pal. But if it's gotta be you or me, it's gonna be me." Not a hint of remorse in his words or actions.

Hearing the stomping sounds of metal on concrete drawing to a halt, Torchwick loosely gazed over his shoulder. As he expected, the destructive automaton had stopped right next to the shelf he had climbed up and was staring directly at him.

Originally, while the callus man had intended on scaling the shelving unit up a few more levels at least, this was stopped immediately. The machine's shoulder mounted cannons protracting forward and directed point-blank at the man.

With the familiar buzzing sound emitting from the two formerly unused weapons, Roman scowled to himself. Not wasting any time, he had to abandon his current plan as he leaped off the side opposite of the droid and back toward the ground floor. The shots piercing through the layer of crates and obliterating them to dust directly overhead the crook.

_On a mission, rivals I'm killin'  
And remorse, no I'm not feelin' eva  
Take ya life, I'm ready and willin'  
Either slicin', smashin', or drillin'  
For tresspassin', I run this city  
Pay the price, I ain't takin' no pity  
I'm out here, mobbin' on you suckas  
In the clear, causin' all the ruckus_

Having landed on one knee, the orange haired male rose back up and started dusting off his pant leg. Muttering a few complaints under his breath as he did so.

A little sore from his gallantless landing, Marco was suddenly revitalized when he saw Roman standing directly beside him. Pushing off his hands, he jumped up onto his feet and grabbed the other criminal by his shoulders. Pulling him in close, nostrils flailing in rage as he breathed heavily right against his formerly considered comrade. "I-I can't believe you did that to me!" The grunt protested, rightfully upset.

Ignoring the other's indignation, Torchwick gazed away abrasively. He wasn't even bothering to address the other or give the slightest form of his attention. The weak hold over him not even worth the effort of disrupting. "Quit crying. You're alive, aren't you?"

The bitter reunion was cut short when the mechanical droid dropped in from the ceiling directly behind the two. Apparently deciding the scale up the wall and cross the roof favored it more than simply walking around the shelving unit.

Both gawking at the worrisome sight, Roman was the first to take action. Finally breaking apart from Marco's shaky hold, he slipped one leg between the other's feet and hooked it behind his front most leg. Grabbing the other's denim jacket by the collar, he swept his leg inward and pushed him away simultaneously. This causing the immediate loss of the grunt's balance as he was toppled to the floor. His task completed, the emerald eyed male broke into a sprint down the aisle and never looked back.

Agape at the second betrayal in such a short period, Marco practically started balling as he scampered upright and followed after him. "R-Roman!" He called out without the tiniest hint of a response.

During his second attempted scurry out of harms way, Marco ended up tripping over himself. With the following hail of dust blasts, one of the shots had hit dangerously close to it's mark, barely inches away during the male's mid-fall. The full force of the explosion launching his helpless body forward and skyward as his body flailed helplessly.

When the orange haired thief noticed the grunt soaring overhead, he kept up his sprint, but continued watching from the corner of his eye. When Marco's body crashed against the opposing wall, the grunt fell limply a full story and into a pile of plastic containers, thankfully breaking his fall.

Smirking, Roman gave a mock salute as he rounded the corner into a different aisle, passing the mountain of stored supplies. "Oh fallen soldier, I salute you!" The thief teased to himself.

Not really paying attention, he ended bumping into someone else who had also been rounding the same corner from the opposite direction. Both almost falling over from the collision, the two men staggered back a few steps.

Looking ahead of him, Roman met the gaze of the formerly knocked-out security guard from earlier. "Mel, you're awake. Isn't that... just great." Heavily pushed down annoyance flooding his voice by the end.

With one hand still holding and massaging the back of his soar head, the dyed blond simply stared forward for a few seconds. How the man in front of him knew his name crossing his mind in the meantime. As his eyes traced the crowbar in the other's hand, the red tinted blunt end caught his attention. "You..." Mel practically growled.

_Try to step, lil' punk, yeah right  
I been takin' out marks like you on sight  
Don't get it twisted, I got heavy hittas  
Get out the way if you ain't rollin' wit us  
Too much pride on my own to die  
And wit that, I'm not alone inside  
No brakes here, ain't takin' days off  
Defend my turf, and that's at all costs_

Reaching inside his partially opened uniform jacket, the guard whipped out a previously concealed handgun.

Acting fast, the criminal swung his crowbar, knocking the firearm away and out of the other's hand.

Disarmed rather quickly, Mel reached for his side and took up his flashlight. His grip low to the base, holding it like a mace.

With a bothersome frown, Roman took a step behind him. "I really don't think now's the best time for this." The crook tried to explain, but was shot down on the spot.

The security member instead responded by swinging the flashlight high near the trespasser's head with a heavy swipe. If Torchwick hadn't have ducked, the side of his head may have even been caved in from the blow.

… … …

Patrolling the center aisle, the Atlas droid stood still surveying the seemingly empty area in front of him. All of a sudden, it received a pair of heavy rounds impacting the back of it's chassis, a third hitting the back of it's head component. Neglecting to receive any true damage from the ranged assault, it instead kept it's pincer-like feet steady while it's torso began rotating behind to search for it's attacker.

Mid-turn, Julius had ran up close. His weapon shifting back for close-ranged use, the mobster attempted weakening the joints of one of the back legs with a running slash. Not noticing any real difference, he stood directly underneath it and gave a stern bat-like swing to the inside of a different leg. Once again, no hindrance in sight.

Scowling at his lackluster performance, the well-dressed gangster settled for his attack being a hit-and-run as he quickly vaulted away and down the aisle into one of the adjacent rows.

Not letting it's target escape so easily, the Atlas machine fired off a few blasts as it was turning to give chase. Doing so resulted in several dust rounds hitting the closest shelf and knocking it off balance.

… … …

Still at each other's throats, both Roman and the security guard took turns swinging and deflecting each other's blows and strikes. Up until then, neither able to land any real definitive attacks.

During their scuffle, the two had to stop for a moment as the shelf closest to them started looming over them with a great shadow. A cringe worthy creaking noise screeching beside them.

As the shelf fell, the top hit the adjacent wall and prevented the structure from falling completely. This did however lead to the unfortunate situation where all containers and other stored materials started raining down on the two opposing men.

While fulling opting to take their disagreement elsewhere, Mel wouldn't allow Roman any leeway. He kept up his swings even as the two now had to dance around the falling debris.

When a small crate fell just behind the emerald eyed male, he ended up stumbling back a few steps.

Seeing this, Mel took full advantage and utilized the other's lack of balance. Grabbing his flashlight with both hands, the guard swung forward with a well grounded stance.

Swiping upward with his crowbar, Torchwick was just barely able to deflect the oncoming strike. Pushed up and away from him, the blunt end tracing just centimeters above his face. Yet even in doing so, he had completely lost his footing and tumbled onto his back.

With a groan, the next thing Roman saw was the gray security uniform standing above him. The owner's hands clasped tightly over his flashlight and ready to smash it straight down with great force.

Not losing his cool, Roman spotted a particularly large wooden crate teetering on the edge of a high up section of the shelf directly overhead. As the guard's swing began, the thief pulled in his feet and kicked the man in his gut. This action halting the blow at least for a second as the other had to recoil from pain momentarily. It also had the auxiliary effect of sliding him back a few feet across the ground.

Rearing his improvised weapon overhead, the guard smirked, about to claim a victory. Just as he did though, the crate above crashed directly on top of him, decking him instantly. Shattered and broken apart segments of the wooden crate littering the area around it's collapse.

As Roman stood up without much haste, he noticed that the particular crate had fallen lacked a lid. It was also empty, apparently meant for shipping some of the goods already managed inside the warehouse elsewhere. This resulting in the guard once again becoming knocked out on the cold floor as apposed to littering with his deceased body. Something that undoubtedly would have been the case should there have been any real weight inside the container.

Wiping some dirt off his black turtleneck, Roman couldn't help but shake his head down at the guard. "You are one lucky guy, you know that?" He remarked, not expecting an answer. "Share some of that with me next ti-."

He was forced to stop his shallow commentary as the spider droid stomped across from down the southern tip of the aisle opposite of him. Biting his lip in aggravation, the man whipped himself around and darted down the row without a moment to lose. A series of blasts shot after them that were all avoided with simple strafes as the criminal rounded the same corner as before and took cover behind it.

"Just us, it seems" Came the now solemn words of the black dressed mafioso. His body also taking cover behind the next adjacent corner of shelving across the aisle.

With a lousy sigh, Torchwick eased up as he adjusted himself into a resting squat. "It's funny. I don't remember hide and seek being so dangerous when I was younger." He lamented to aloud.

With a nod, Julius poked his head out around his corner to verify the location of the currently scouting war machine. "Indeed. Well, you know what they say. Everything's just so much more violent these days."

"You're tellin' me." The emerald eyed crook responded offhandedly.

After a little while, he shifted his gaze across to the other, a bitter look to it. "Fess up, Julius." The younger demanded lightly with no real urgency to his words. "Who really owns this place?"

Silent at first, Julius seemed to weight the alternatives and consequences to answering this question. With a huff, he folded. "The mob." He finally revealed.

Knitting a furrowed brow, the thief rolled his eyes. "We _are_ the mob." The callous man reminded.

Shaking his head, the older of the two looked away, sneaking another glance at their steel predator. "The _other_ mob." Julius replied, the annoyance in his voice causing his tone to raise slightly.

With an appalled look, Roman stood up into a full stand again. "Well then, isn't this whole thing just fu-" The orange haired male cut himself off as the droid took a sudden jerking motion toward their direction at the noticeable rise in their voices.

The pair completely silent and still as the seconds ate away. Without so much as a heavy breath escaping them, the droid began a slow studying approach nonetheless.

_My town, my city  
At a close look, it's all gritty  
But I defend it, never endin'  
And I got all my henchmen wit me  
Put a stop to yo disrespectin'  
By any means, it ain't no threat n'  
I'mma promise to fight for mine  
Reppin' my set as I break ya spine_

Beginning to look a little woeful, Julius kept a steady gaze of the enclosing machine. "We can't waste anymore time." His tired brown eyes shifting over to the other criminal across from him. "Here's what we'll do. You draw it's fire. While you do that, I'll bust open the safe and deliver it to the boss."

Appearing less than amused, Roman stared down the older man. "You must be joking."

Narrowing his eyes, Julius scowled. "Did I say something funny?" His intimidating demeanor bouncing right off the more jaded other.

The thief's emerald irises didn't waver from their objective, even in the dire situation the pair found themselves in. His objective currently revolving around returning glare to match his superior. "No, but let me tell you what I heard. _Roman, run on out and distract that steel behemoth, get yourself killed while I make off with all the loot and the glory_." His voice deepening to mock the elder.

Understandably angry at the blunt refusal to his instruction, the gangster tightened his hold on his weapon. "This is bigger than you. You wouldn't understand." He tried explaining, but made no headway.

Not buying it, Torchwick looked away very candidly. "Yeah. Thanks, but no thanks. I'd rather be hated and alive than remembered fondly and not." A certain degree of casualness to his words.

Reluctant to let things end in the direction they were heading, Julius spoke up again trying to regain control of the situation."Now isn't the time fo-"

Flippant, Roman took off to his right as he noticed how close the Atlas robot had gotten. "You're on your own. It's survival of the fittest, Julius!"

With the machine now aware of the two formerly hidden criminals, it set it's sights on the stationary target.

"Dammit all!" The elder mobster roared with clenched teeth. Sprinting around to his right, he took cover behind the assorted shelved materials in an attempt to shake the combat droid's lock on him. Bursts of dust shot through the goods as it attempted to find and eliminate it's target in the process.

_Sucka, cross game, I'mma check ya  
Cuz in my town, my gang, the protectas  
Now, all my troops are in line  
To the outsiders, we the wreckas  
You here but you don't belong  
I'll bloody you body if you don't be gone  
We gotta restore our town to glory  
Takin' back what's ours, that's our story_

With the war machine distracted, Roman took the moment to take up his former search for an escape route. Eyes scanning the warehouse, they eventually traced over the giant destroyed wooden crate that had crumbled over the stubborn security member. He would have normally skipped right over this, but had to stop when a very important detail struck out to him, the guard in question was missing.

Confused, the rogue shifted his head quickly around the room. His search eventually settling on a barely visible corner across the room. The guard slouched on the side of the wall, probably no longer able to hold himself up with his legs alone. A more troubling sight being the fact that he was dialing a phone hung up on the side of the wall next to him.

With his body abused in multiple ways over the course of his night shift, Mel laid his forehead on the wall as his hand fiercely gripped the side of the mounted phone to keep himself standing. Thankfully able to dial the correct number on the first shot, the humming dial tones that followed after were music to his tired ears.

After a series of heavy breathes, someone on the other end picked up. The person who answered turned out to be a professional and polite woman. "Hello, this is the Vale Police Department. Please state your emergency." She instructed calmly.

Suddenly all smiles, the guard trembling brought the phone over to the side of his head. "Tre... Trespassers." He was barely able to chock out. "Warehouse 55B. The southern port. Please, s-send help. I-"

Before Mel could continue, he was slugged roughly on the side of the face. The phone in his hand dropping immediately as his body collapsed onto the hard ground. Just before the phone could fall completely, it was caught easily in a brown round cuffed glove.

Glaring below at the downed security guard, Roman wore a look that seemed to resonate with murderous intent. Bringing the phone up to his face, it melted instantly into a warm and polite smile. "I do apologize miss, my friend here seems to have had one too many tonight."

After a short lived pause, the operator on the other end spoke up again. "Are you implying there isn't any emergency, sir?" A fair amount of skepticism in her tone.

With a convincing laugh, Torchwick picked up his left foot and pressed it roughly against the side of the floored guard. A painful throaty groan escaping him as the boot was pushed further down. "Yes, of course. Our friend over here, Jokester Johnny, that's what we call 'im. He thought it would funny to call the police and make up this phony story. I really can't apologize enough, really."

While almost done with his acting performance, the Atlas drone let out another series of blasts as it began another round against Julius off on the other side of the warehouse. Roman's forced smile twitching as a few drops of sweat started dripping down the side of his head.

"There seems to be quite a bit of commotion over there. Are you certain everything is alright, sir?" The policewoman brought up, earning a hearty but unknowingly forced laugh out of the other.

"Yes, well..." Taking a second to think, the emerald eyed thief swallowed the amass of saliva collecting in his mouth with a heavy gulp. "...we work in a warehouse, miss. You're just hearing machinery. Forklifts and whatnot. I won't bore you with all the details. Really and truly, there isn't any cause for alarm here. I'd just hate to get Johnny in trouble for his stupid prank is all." His explanation delivered swiftly without hesitation, the man's boot pressing down more roughly by the end.

After a few moments, the woman on the other end responded. "There should be a patrol car in the area. I'll be sending them over to check things out. If things are as you say I don't foresee any irreparable penalties. Have a safe night, sir."

When the sound of a dead line emitted from the wall phone, Torchwick's fake smile died instantly. Yanking the phone cord out of it's socket, he threw both the wire and the phone down at the guard beneath him. "If I had more time, I'd strangle you with that cord, you hear me?" The stress and anger of everything finally starting to get to him.

Abandoning the injured man, Roman spun around. Returning to his search for an exit strategy, he started looking over the shelves for anything he could use to his advantage.

When one of the blasts shook a far away shelf, a certain glistening material poured out into the air before disappearing. Not sure what he'd seen, the rogue stared more in-depth. With another shake, the same phenomenon repeated itself.

Getting a better look at what he could now define as a lustrous red powder, hope flashed in his eyes. Upon his realization, a wide grin crept along the side of his face. "Dust."

Even with the unneeded time limit added into the mix of his troubles, the criminal couldn't help but be overtaken by the excitement of finding an ace in the hole. Taking out the crowbar which had seen an astonishing amount of use this night, he started a light jog as he sneaked over close to the wall and toward the shipment of dust high on the rightmost eastern shelf.

_Keep comin', if you lookin' for trouble  
And get kicked out, hella fast on the double  
Go hard for my city, rep it to the death  
Keep on fightin' til there ain't nuthin' left  
Yeah, cleansin' all the leaches  
Usin' techniques no one else teaches  
Cuz I really can't do this all for the people  
For my town an' me, there's really no equal_

Climbing up the very shelving he had attempted when this whole fiasco had started, the grin on Roman's face never faded. If his hunch was right, things couldn't have been more perfect.

Ignoring the battle being waged in front of him, the thief climbed up level after level with the help of his crowbar. Once making it to the near penultimate layer and fifth shelf up from the ground, Roman searched for what he had saw before.

Not taking long, his venomous green eye landed on a wooden crate whose lid had gotten probably gotten uprooted due to all the commotion. The container was as high as the man's knees, as wide as a small table for two.

Using the mostly unused sharpened flat end of the crowbar, he used his body weight to prop the other section of the lid clean off. Taking a look inside, his suspicions were proven correct.

The inside held a series of large glass vials holding red dust fragments. The dust was cut like a fine sand. One of the vials cracked from all the ruckus. Working fast, Roman undid the tops off all the containers. Casting them aside, he slid the whole crate over near the ledge and right above all the fighting.

Looking over his shoulder, the crook smirked finding the automaton directly below as it squared off against the black-dressed mobster.

Placing the wooden container on the edge, Roman strolled around it and took a deep breath. His lungs full, he parted his lips lightly and exhaled at full strength. A sharp whistle emitting sufficed to cut through the rough gun-play.

Cautious, the droid turned it's focus away from the gangster in front of him. Rotating it's chassis, it looked up and aimed all four of it's cannon's at the callus individual high above.

At the notice, Torchwick shoved the box off the edge with his foot. The container fell hard and fast. Crashing atop the machine's head, it's entirety was coated in the fine red crystal.

_This my, this my city  
All my gangstas, man are you wit me  
Yo reign of terror ends here real quickly  
Takin' back what's mine, put simply  
This my, this my town  
To get it back, man it's gonna go down  
In no way am I messin' around  
The king returns, takin' back my crown_

Reaching into his pants pocket, Roman pulled out two things, his custom lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Removing a single, he placed it in his mouth and lit the tip. Holding it near the base of his mouth, he took one long drag that burned up nearly all of the stick.

Removing the cigarette with his right hand, the rogue opened his mouth to reveal a wide teeth clenched grin. This forcing the smoke to pour out of the two corners of his mouth. "Here..." With pleasure, Roman pulled the burning cigarette behind him. "...have a smoke!"

Chucking the lit bud, it daintily dropped down further and further. As the automaton began charging it's four cannons, the bud landed on the tip of it's head. The burning end coming into contact with one of the most miniscule dust fragments.

Suddenly, the dust started to combust violently. The Atlas war machine's body set ablaze and the heavy patches of dust were set off from minor to severe explosions all over it's body. Parts of it's outer platting breaking and flying off to expose the circuity underneath.

It's frame trembling heavily, a few sparking explosions still going off around it, the droid corrected it's aim and began charging it's cannon's again. Before it could make out with it's objective however, a bullet impacting the side of one of it's shoulder mounted cannons was shot and was severed clean off. The devastating weapon landing onto the ground with a heavy thud.

Turning it's head, now half exposed with circuitry, the droid saw the black-dressed mafioso beginning a confident stride over toward it. No fear in his eyes as he walked closer and closer, his weapon in it's rail-gun state. Firing another round, a new bullet pierced straight through the weakened armor and clean through the chest.

The charge on the massive cannons beginning to weaken and dwindle, Julius pressed his advantage. One after another, his projectiles were shot out. Each one taking a chunk of the machine's plating with it. Eventually, even all four cannons had been disarmed. Continuing, it's front legs were shot apart at the joints, causing the droid to crash front first into the ground and only a few feet away from the mobster.

It's remaining joints and servos twitching as the fire continued to consume it, the machine stared up at Julius. Holding his gun up in the air, with a twist of the wrist, it shifted back into his sword form. Claiming the weapon in both hands, he gave decisive and mighty slash downward, carving a deep gash into it's head unit. Removing his steel, the machines body laid still and motionless, the crackling of fire replacing the mechanical retracting sounds of metal.

After scaling down a few levels, Roman hopped off the side of the shelf and landed beside the experienced gangster. "I expect to be paid triple for tonight's services, Julius." The orange haired youth commented standing up right.

Staring at the burning flames, the dark skinned criminal responded apathetically. "Best joke I've heard all night."

Pulling out his cigarettes from before, Torchwick plucked out a fresh one, not really able to enjoy his previous. "I mean it, Julius." As he struggled to light the end for some reason, the weapon in his superior's hands caught his eyes. "Or how about you get me one of those? It's about time the mob got me some tech. I've earned it."

About to further his case, the green eyed thief almost dropped his lighter as the music which had been blasting through the warehouse seemed to repeat as if on some sort of loop. "And I swear, if _somebody_ doesn't turn off that insufferable music..." Turning around, Roman faced the overhanging manager's office through the shelf. "I AM MURDERING SOMEONE!" He shouted with the aid of his emptied patience.

Jolted awake on top of the manager's desk. The track suited grunt jumped up right, the back of his head bashing against the disrupted filing cabinets behind him as he did. Still not completely recovered, his hand fumbled to take back his dislodged headset, but when he did, the music which had been playing since his departure from consciousness ceased instantly.

With a long aggravated sigh, Roman turned back around. "Not gonna lie, I was _really_ hoping he wouldn't do it."

Smiling at how frustrated his underling had become, Julius reached inside his once pristine but now ripped up coat and pulled out a silver cigar case. Taking out a pre-cut cigar, he slipped the case back inside.

"Y'know, I didn't get this thing as some sort of anniversary gift from the criminal underworld." The mobster commented, sheathing his weapon. "I stole it. You can do the same, or just make your own. I really couldn't care less, Romeo." Seeing Roman still struggling to light his cigarette, he offered his cigar which was taken almost immediately.

Turning away, the ringleader during the night's events started walking over to where Marco his henchman had been tossed earlier. "Tell ya what though, you can hand over the goods to the boss. That should paint you in quite the pretty picture. Besides, I still have dinner plans tonight."

"Yeah, yeah." Roman brushed off the order as he was instantly able to get the cigar lit. Taking a few puffs, his eyes widened partially, surprised by his unexpected approval of the taste. "Not bad." He stated to himself. Holding it in his mouth, he turned around and walked around the shelving behind him so that he could get up and over to the office.

Heading up the staircase, the grunt who had been stuck in the managerial office the longest began making his way down. As they were about to pass each other, something on Roman's boot caught the other's eye. "Hey, Roman, how come only one of your shoes are all bloody?"

Without so much as batting an eyelash, Torchwick kept up his pace and walked right passed. "Keep walkin'." He instructed, in an annoyed tone which caused the grunt to quicken his pace to a noticeable degree.

Entering the mess of a room, Roman shook his head at the disheveled appearance. One thing however stood out to him immediately. The safe which had previously been locked, now rested in the center of the room under some debris.

Stepping over a knocked over filing cabinet, he knelt down and pushed the glass and tossed about junk off the case to get a better look at it. Doing so revealed that the front had been blasted right off. Apart from some dust and garbage flying inside, the contents seemed undamaged.

While this had saved him a few minutes, when he saw how vacant the interior was, he grew uneasy. Looking around the room there seemed to be nothing that should have been inside, not that the complete disaster or a room made any sense to him at all at this point. Who could say the most valued asset wasn't buried underneath something, or simply out of sight.

Reaching inside the small vault, Roman pulled out not a stack of bills or something of equal value, but a beige folder. Opening it up, he found it held a series of documents and not much else. Even though he knew not too, he ended up reading the first few paragraphs of the admittedly useless seeming paperwork. He was about to put it down when a familiar name jumped out at him. "Caprello?" The thief couldn't help but utter to himself in shock. "But that's..." Beginning to process the actual value of what he held, a devious smirk arose.

Walking over to the main shutters they had entered in from, Julius had slung one of Marco's arms over his shoulder to support him. "Open 'er up!" The leader of their ragtag group commanded up toward the office.

Getting up, Roman held the files under one of his arms as he tiptoed around the destroyed office. Making it over to the desk, it was miraculous to see at least the security computer functioning properly for the most part, a few uneasy screen flickerings excluded.

About to open up the shutters, one of the security windows showed that a black and white police cruiser had just parked across the straight. A security officer for the port pointing and guiding them over.

"What's the hold up?" Julius barked impatiently. "Forget how to work the door, Romeo?"

With a nefarious idea popping into his head, a lousy smirk overtook his face as he looked down and over to the mafioso through the shattered window. "Sorry for the hold up." With the tap of few keystrokes and mouse clicks, the shutters were pulled right up.

… … …

Not inclined to waste any more of the time than he had already lost, Julius decided to go under the gate as it was being pulled up and brought Marco along with him. Not wanting to be left behind, the remaining grunt did similarly. As soon as all three of them cleared the shutters, it was slammed shut right behind them.

Bewildered by the action, Julius raised a brow. "Why did...?" His question was answered when he looked over to see a pair of patrolmen less than a dozen feet away.

Instantly reaching for his weapon, both officers had drawn and pointed their handguns toward him. "Freeze!" One shouted, the mobster's hand halted, left hovering mere inches away from his personal weapon.

"On the ground!" The second officer ordered, taking a few steps closer. His gun pointed at the center of the black dressed gangster's body. "I said on the ground!"

Gritting his teeth, Julius was forced to abandon his saber as he slowly knelt down onto his knees. Placing Marco down to fend for himself for the time being, he put his hands over his head to await further instruction. A foul look on his face as the other two mimicked his actions.

While one of the police officers kept a gun pointed at them, the other handcuffed the least beat up of the three. Who by a slim margin, was Julius. After cuffing the first, the cop ran over to his cruiser to get more for the two goons.

Watching this with a defeated expression, the head crook's eyes all of a sudden went wide with rage. Just as the second officer was returning with a fresh pair of handcuffs, out from the side of the warehouse and directly behind the two cops, strolled Roman Torchwick.

Roman wore a proud grin of superiority. Brandishing the folder in his hand, he tossed it inside the open window on the side of the closest cop car so that it landed in the passenger seat. Barely making a sound, he walked leisurely around the hood and opened up the driver side door and hopped right in.

Before either of the officers knew any better, a door slam and loud purr of the of their police cruiser garnered their focus. Just as they realized what was going on, Torchwick had floored the accelerator and drove straight toward them, burning out for a moment before flying forward.

Both cops dove to the side as they realized the danger. When the vehicle drew closer, the driver pulled on the hand brake and skid into a perfect 180 degree stop. The rear end almost swiping all three detained criminals in the process.

Forced to shield his eyes from the gust of wind and dirt from the stunt, Julius reopened his eyes to find the driver side of the police car directly beside him. The window rolled down with Roman leaning one arm out. A mirthful look in his sole exposed eye.

With a low snicker, the thief shifted his head over toward the other. "Sorry about this, Julius. This whole thing is just bigger than you, is all." Roman mocked, bringing up the gangster's own words from earlier in a heavily condescending manner. "Do me a favor though, would you? Draw their attention for a while. As you do that, I'll make off with the files and deliver it to the boss."

When all of the jaded man's venomous request fully left his mouth, Julius' eyes seemed to turn completely white with rage. "ROMAN!" The man roared out with all of his being as he pushed up off one knee and attempted rising into a stand.

"Finally got it right!" The back-stabbing crook cried out with elation. An uproarious laughter escaping him as he floored the accelerator of his stolen vehicle once again. Peeling out again, the car pulled off the side and took off.

Everyone, Julius, the other criminals, and even the police officers could do nothing but watch the full speed escape. As soon as it had transpired however, one of the officers reached for their hand radio. "HQ, this is patrol SV139, we have a situation."

… … …

Flying down the side of the port, Roman kept his car parallel to the ocean. As he was driving, he pulled out his cell phone and zipped down his contact list. His speed not slowing in the slightest as he did so. It was clear the thief intended on making as much distance between law enforcement and his no doubt bloodthirsty former superior as possible.

Eventually hovering over a contact listed as Caprello, Torchwick called them up immediately. With the same elation from before not yet washing out, he held the phone to the side of his head.

After a few rings, there was an answer. "_Who is this?_" The voice belonged to was sounded like a much older woman. Despite the age however, the tone was severely cutthroat.

"Hey, boss. It's Roman. Roman Torchwick." The suave crook introduced himself proudly.

"_Who?_" The older woman repeated with a hint of annoyance. "_Wait. Roman? Aren't you one of Julius' boys? Who said you could contact me directly?_"

Forcing an overly dramatic wincing noise, Torchwick shook his head. "About that. Julius and I aren't really on speaking terms right now. Unfortunately it seems that him and the others will be spending some time behind bars, if you catch my drift." A genuine laugh making it's way through his delivery, he continued after collecting himself. "Oh, but don't worry, I made sure to get my hands on that documentation you needed."

After a long pause, and the sounds of the person on the other end discussing the matter with someone else, Caprello responded. "_Roman, was it? I'm going to give you the name of an address. If you can get those papers there without being seen, you can have Julius' position._"

Before even attempting to respond, Roman's act fell to pieces as a long boastful laughter poured out of him. A wide grin plastered on his face as he held the phone back up to the side of his head. "Forgive me, it's my fault. I should have been more clear with my intentions."

Shifting the phone in his hand, he slipped it onto his shoulder so that he didn't need to use a hand to hold it. Reaching over, he picked up the folder with his right hand and flipped through it with his thumb a few pages.

"You see, Caprello." He began, his tone completely full of himself by this point. "I happened to take a little peak at the info in here. And I gotta tell ya, there is some pretty interesting stuff. Like you name, next to some pretty important political figures, and even some high up law enforcement. I don't really care who you go into business with boss, really I don't. But, I wonder how your men, or some of the other gangs or families in the area might feel about all this, don't you?"

After another pause, Caprello released a long sigh. "_What is it you want, Mr. Torchwick?_"

Without skipping a beat, Roman spoke his next words without delay. "You were on the right track when you offered my Julius's job. But I don't want his." He paused briefly as his grin inched wider. "I want yours."

"_You think you can strong arm me?_" The female mafia don spoke with outrage. "_Who do you think you are? Who do you think I am? Do you know how long I've run this family. Probably longer than you've been breathing, you little punk!_" As her voice became more and more raised and spiteful, Torchwick pulled the phone further away from his head. "_When I find you, you're dead. You hear me, Torchwick?_"

Not fearful in the slightest, Roman continued to wear his nonchalant expression. "I can see your upset. I'll let you sleep on the offer." Pulling the phone away form his head completely, he could hear the shrieking outbursts continue on the other end. Rolling down his passenger side window, he chucked the phone outside and allow it to plummet into the ocean's thick abyss.

Shaking his head, the thief turned away from the side of the port and started turning toward the exit coming up. His folder tossed back onto the passenger's seat. "People who can't negotiate under pressure have no place in this life. Just so unfitting. Sad, really."

A guard booth doubling as a toll blocked his path onto the offshoot which lead into Vale's city districts. With a small retractable yellow and black traffic gate blocking his way, Roman showed no signs of slowing down.

Crashing straight through, the cruiser made short work of the extended gate as it cleared it with barely any hindrance or signs of deaccelerating.

After making his way through the off shoot, Torchwick had once again returned to the city streets of Vale. Clumps of packed together buildings flying by his peripheral sight as he drove forward. Still speeding, he saw a red light up ahead at a four way intersection and a bulk of traffic that he didn't quite care for. With a flick of something on the dashboard, the police lights and sirens began howling at full blast.

Within seconds, the cars in front all pulled over to the side. Even up ahead at the street light, all waited as to not inconvenience the assumed policeman. Whizzing straight through the intersection, Roman flicked off the sirens. "I should have stolen one of these years ago." He commented approvingly.

This stunt however seemed to attract unwanted attention. In his review mirror, Roman could identify another police car giving chase. Grimacing, he turned on the police radio. "_Bzzt -peat. I repeat. I have spotted what appears to be the stolen patrol car and am in hot pursuit. I am traveling down third street and the suspect is heading North._"

Within a second, Dispatch had responded. "_Copy that, continue pursuit and do not lose your visual on the suspect. We will be sending more units from sixth street to cut the suspect off._"

Smirking, Torchwick glanced over at an upcoming turn. "As much as I hate to disappoint." Spinning his steering wheel in his hands, he took a violent turn and swiped the side of his pilfered escape vehicle against a civilian van waiting at the opposing light as he did so.

Continuing to tune in on the police frequency, Roman sped down the side road. "_Suspect has changed course. He seems to now be heading East and into-_" As soon as the direction had been delivered over the airwaves, the criminal took a hard swerve at the next upcoming intersection. "_S-Scratch that dispatch! The suspect has veered North again. The road is... uh... M-Meriselo Street!_"

Shaking his head, The rogue smirked. "C'mon boys. People pay taxes for you services." Stifling a laugh, the crook snickered to himself. "Well, I don't, but the principle remains."

The game continued like this for minutes. Every now and then, the car behind in chase would call out a position and where it's target seemed to be heading, only for Roman to completely throw off the prediction. This farce went on for a few more roads before eventually they became aware that Roman had been using their main frequency and shifted to a second back-up one. By the time this had transpired however, Torchwick had already lost his devoted tail.

Eventually finding his way onto one of the many side roads, a few down from a main street, Roman cruised without much of a care or worry. No longer trapped in a race, he was no longer flying down the road, but continued speeding a comfortable pace.

Smirking to himself smugly, he appeared to be enjoying his victory lap as he flew under a green light. At the same time, a dirty brown pick-up truck blew right through a red light at the intersection at the same speed Roman was going. Just as the ambitious man's smirk faded, the collision took place.

Connecting at the hood of the truck and by the rear door on the driver's side of the cruiser. Due to the speed both were traveling, the cop car was sent spiraling down the center of the road from the sudden jerk. No matter which way the thief attempted turning the wheel, there was no way to regain control. With nothing short of a blur appearing from the driver's windshield, the second collision happened against a corner side streetlight. The unexpected front end crash shoving the driver forward as the rear end even lifted off the ground for a moment. If he weren't wearing a seatbelt, Roman would have been hurled through the glass in front of him. The air bags not deploying, his forehead slammed straight into the steering wheel.

The truck that had hit him had skidded to a stop a few meters away from the crash. The roads being empty apart from the two of them, no one else had gotten hurt. Stationary at first, the driver backed up slowly so that they could make out the condition of whom had been hit. After getting a good look at the condition of the police car, the driver suddenly took off down the road without stopping, abandoning the scene and lonely crash.

… … …

With a heavy sigh and groggy groan, the criminal's green eyes fluttered open. Blurs becoming defined outlines, the thief slowly lifted his head upright and leaned back in his seat. His movements stiff.

When a warm liquid started traveling down the front of his face, it slowly dripped onto his cargo pants. Knowing what it was already, he altered the now crooked rear view mirror to get a proper look at his face.

Just above the right side of his face, where he had absorbed the blunt of the impact from the crash, now sat a deep but small gash. Not intent on having even the faintest of blemish mark up his profile, he took a few moments to fix his hair before leaning back in his seat. Reexamining himself in the mirror, the right side of his orange bangs were pulled down heavily to conceal the half of his face for good measure. He was sure the wound would probably heal up nicely over time, no matter how bad it seemed now. There was no doubt in his mind this was a temporary fix.

Allowing a few moments to collect himself. The sounds of the lightly burning engine fading into the night ambiance and far off sirens.

Reaching down for the car handle, Roman gave a stiff pull and tried opening the door next to him. Feeling some resistance, it wouldn't budge. The hit most likely pushing in the area the door. Extended, he was forced to alter his position for a better grip. Pushing a little harder, the door finally gave way and fell right off the hinges.

Taking a deep breath from his nostrils, he breathed out of his mouth and huffed as he slid his feet onto the sidewalk. Moving one hand onto the side of his seat, the other gripped the steering wheel. Pulling himself up, the crook found it wasn't too difficult to stand up on his feet.

Staggering forward, a few shuffling footsteps every now and then, he started limping forward down the sidewalk. The fresh but abrasive night air cooling his recent and assorted bruises and minor wounds.

After his short trudge passed a few buildings, the rogue turned to face the store he found himself in front of. His beaten expression staring back at him, the familiar sight of his reflection gussied up in a exquisite white coat hung up in the shop stared back at him. Realizing this was the same store he marveled at himself earlier in the evening, a low chuckle escaped him. At that instance, a single smirk cracked the tired look of defeat that had since marred his face.

Unhooking the crowbar off of the side of his waist, he twirled it in hand before grabbing it firmly near the base. Grinning, he pulled his arm back before stepping forward and shattering the show window to pieces.

… … …

A pair of police cars sped down the side road. Their sirens blazing as they did so. Coming up on the accident, both pulled over. One a few building down from the wreck, the other just passed on the opposite side of the street. A pair of cops approaching the scene, all four making their way over.

Seated on the rear trunk of the crashed and smoking police cruiser sat Roman Torchwick. A lit cigarette in his mouth as he sat with one leg crossed over the other. Dressed in a fine regal white coat. Even while a pair approached with guns drawn, the crook remained all smiles.

Pretending to examine a watch he didn't wear, Roman clapped his hands, motioning for the others to speed up. "Fellas, c'mon. What are you doing? I've been here for a little over three minutes. And boys, that is, that's just inexcusable."

Ignoring his bravado, one of the officers walked over to him and pushed him off the cop car and back onto his feet. After doing so, he brought the thief to his knees and restrained both his hands behind his back. Following this, he shoved the crook rather roughly onto the pavement and pressed his face into the street. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Not very impressed, Torchwick allowed the procedure to continue without hindering it. "Boys you can read me as many right as you want, but nothing short of a steel clamp will keep this mouth of mine shut."

Despite his easy protest, they went on with their work. Once done, they picked him up off the ground and started leading him to the closest patrol car.

As this was happening, a few more snide comments came to him. "What's wrong fellas? If your nervous about driving this late at night, you can let me handle it. You two can relax in the back."

Roughening his hold on the talkative criminal, an officer opened up the rear down of his car and tossed him in headfirst. "Keep laughin' it up. Your goin' to jail for a long time, bud."

Smirking as he laid on his side, the crook's celebratory glow was unshakable. Pulling his legs in, they slammed the door shut on him. "Don't count on it." He whispered to himself.

The officer and his partner slipping in to their seats up front, the car engine turned back on. Pulling off the side of the road, they departed for the station across town. "Your tune'll fly South once you get in holding."

Sitting upright, the criminal cracked his neck, settling into place. "Oh yeah?" He egged on. "Just you wait. I'll flash the ol' pearly whites in my mugshot, just for you."

Traveling under the night sky, so many things were already set in motion. Yet unbeknown to the smart mouthed man, for all his plans and ambitions the criminal had in store, he couldn't have possibly predicted that during that night, he would have attracted the attention of certain golden eyed witch.

* * *

_Author Notes_:

Been meaning to write more for the RWBY fandom, with recent untimely happening in the community, I figured it was high time I put my ass into gear and do just that, sit down and put some serious time and hours into this.

Anyway, moving onto a less depressing topic, this whole premise was derived from Roman's mugshot from early in season 1. This guy is beaten and bruised, but has one of the biggest, most smug grins imaginable. Whatever led him to that scenario was something he was fully proud of. And that got me thinking, just what could it have been?

Music once again is: "Skitz The Samurida - My Town, My City" Yes, this is an actual artist and this track is from the soundtrack to Anarchy Reigns / Max Anarchy. The whole album is full of crazy over the top hip-hop. I couldn't think of anything else to properly reflect how over the top the fight choreography of RWBY can be, and I can't recommend it enough.


End file.
